So, I recently cut my hair (and put an awesome red stripe in the front, as well!). This happened about 3 months ago. Not too long after, I was standing in the midst of a party of mostly lesbians, and I realized… nearly everyone had short hair.

I went to Cancun on a lesbian resort, and… everyone had short hair.

I have gay hair.

It needs to be long again.

Don’t get me wrong: I have no problem with gay hair, and my haircut is super cute. But you know what? When it was chin-length it was longer than almost all the other gays I hung out with, and it got comments ALL THE TIME on how cute it was. Now I get compliments from straight people, and occasionally gay people, but mostly I think it looks like a lot of other gay haircuts so we’re used to seeing it. I don’t do well blending with the crowd.

I need a new haircut. It can’t be too long because I don’t want to deal with long hair (and Quin really doesn’t like long hair; since she has to look at me, I figure it’s only fair to take that into consideration!). I’m thinking chin-shoulder length. I have no idea what beyond that, but clearly I need a new cut. My life. She is hard. 😉

Hilariously, it does occur to me that I’ll likely be missed as gay again, if I grow my hair out. I mean, I’m still missed half the time now, but I’ll REALLY be overlooked. Oh well. It’s worth it!

One of the things about being femme, and being not-particularly-high femme, is that I blend. It means I come out a lot, to both gays and straights. Somtimes it gets annoying, but mostly I don’t care. (Q seems to enjoy it; it makes us blend when she doesn’t want to be noticed, she gets a kick out of it when I tell people I’m gay — usually by mentioning my girlfriend — and I think she likes that I’m so willing to be out when I could as easily fake straight.)

Anyway, I had a hilarious moment in my dog class the other day. One of my straight clients, Bev, is in her 60s or 70s. She wears brilliant blue contacts and dyes her hair jet black. She’s the epitome of eccentric in clothes, mannerisms, speech, etc. The woman has Flair. I have no idea if she knows I’m gay, but I don’t make any secret about it. Several of my clients know that my assistant trainer is also my girlfriend.

Anyway, we were just winding up class, and I mentioned that I was going to Cancun in May.

Bev: Oh, how fun! Where are you staying?
Me: I have no idea! Some resort. There’s this group called Olivia, and they rent out a whole resort or a whole cruise ship and stock it with no one but lesbians. *big grin*
Bev: Oh, you’re going to have fun!

And then she gave me this saucy, knowing look. I nearly killed myself laughing! (So did everyone else, though the couple from Iowa, who hadn’t known, gave me a double take before they chuckled! It’s impossible to tell if they were surprised I was gay, or surprised that I, specifically, with my lack of gaydar-waves, was gay. They didn’t seem terribly alarmed, so I’m guessing the latter.)

I had another coming out moment, as well. I’ve been asked to guest lecture at the Los Gatos High School a couple of years running now, and every year Steve asks me, “Have you ever used positive reinforcement on people?” To which I say, “Yes!” And think up a demonstration. Now, mostly I think of Q, since I’m around her the most, and the past two years I stumble over that. “I was out with my — er, uh, friend, and we were…” I know high schools can be funny about gay stuff, so even though Los Gatos is lesbian mecca, I didn’t want to get Steve in trouble.

Well, I have another client who’s a teacher there, and I saw her a few days ago. So I told her what was going on, and said, “Paris, I have a girlfriend but I don’t know what the policy is and don’t want to get Steve in trouble. Would I? I also don’t like censoring myself, and generally don’t bother to; I’m not interested in hiding this aspect. What can you tell me about school policy?”

Paris was hilarious. She said that, like anywhere, they had their intolerant people, but that school policy was progressive. They have a Gay and Straight Alliance, diversity and tolerance posters all over, “Safe space” triangles, and the teachers and staff have all been coached on what to say if they hear someone using the terms “fag,” “faggot” or “gay” in negative settings. So, she said, I should be perfectly fine in saying anything I’d like.

Then she got excited about it. “In fact, if anyone said anything to you, they’d get in huge trouble. We have — do we? We do have other out staff, and if they’re comfortable with it we encourage it so the kids are exposed to more types of people and have role models. And you’re successful and happy and top in your profession, so that’d be great!”

I had a good crack up (and was flattered). And she was even more excited that I’m comfortably out and talk about it casually. I couldn’t decide if she was proud of me or if she was excited that the kids would have a good role model/stereotype breaker. I’m not sure SHE knew which was true! Likely both.

It always cracks me up in a strange sort of way when someone is proud of me for being out and honest about it. I mean, I’m so divided. It’s totally ego-stroking to be praised for it and have someone be proud of me. It’s amusing that they’re proud, because it’s not like it’s something they helped with. It’s frustrating that they’re proud, because it shouldn’t be a big enough deal to be proud over. It’s distressing, because it’s a sign of how much even straight people realize that it’s difficult and scary to be out, and it shouldn’t be. Such a maelstrom of emotions.

Mostly I let the happy ones surface and try to acknowledge but let go of the less happy ones.

If you live in San Fran (or the surrounding area, as I do) and you enjoy dancing (which I do) and your boifriend happens to get you hooked on two stepping (which Q did) and you’re queer, than The Place To Go is Sundance Saloon, which offers gay two stepping, line dancing, and lessons every Thursday and Sunday.

I’m not a total extrovert like Q is, and I can’t always handle the crowd, but I do enjoy it a few times a month! One of my favorite things, though, is to people-watch.

Now, this isn’t much of a surprise to people who know me. I LOVE people watching. I’ve been known to wander downtown and sit on a bench just to watch people. I make up stories for them and histories and imagine what’s going on. I laugh at the kids and little dogs and cringe when a pedestrian walks into traffic without looking. I love people watching! There’s such an amazing variety of people! I love them.

Sundance tickles me pink. Occasionally Q will head off to dance with a friend, and if I have a chance to have a break (I don’t always; I know enough people there now that often someone asks me to dance if they see I’m free) I like to tuck myself between the wall and whatever is sticking out (there’s like, one tiny table, a square thing people sit on, and a giant wall for the fan), and just watch.

It’s amazing, and I love it. Not just because I’m people-watching, but because I look out at this sea of people, and I see all the variety I would normally see, and I know — these are all queer people.

My favorite is watching the older gentlemen, (It’s mostly gay men) the gentlemen of color, and the one person who always wears a sparkly hijab (I believe that’s what it usually is — sometimes it’s a western-style dress or a toga). Those are my favorite people. In part because they aren’t the people you see in the media. Before I started coming to Sundance, somehow my perception of gay men was… well, Hollywood.

EXACTLY LIKE THAT. ———————————————->

If you had asked me, of course I would have said that queers come in all shapes and sizes. I know queers in all shapes and sizes! But if I’d pictured a group in my head, they would have all looked like this.

That’s part of why I like seeing the people at Sundance. They look like normal people. They look like people I could get to know and have fun with and generally be friends with. They are attainable, and they’re familiar enough that I feel like I can be part of that.

There’s something else, too, though. The elderly gents, they’ve lived through much harder times than I have — and they’re still out, proud, dancing and enjoying life. The men of color, they’ve lived in cultures and subcultures that are far more difficult than mine, and they’re still out, proud, dancing and enjoying life. The person in zir hijab, I’m sure ze deals with much more shit than I do, and even in ze’s own queer community — and he’s still out, proud, dancing and enjoying life.

These people give me hope. They make me feel like, even if this country regress or comes to a stand still for a while, even if I deal with occasional shit or want to kick in someone’s kneecaps on a butch or trans friend’s behalf, even if I am sometimes made to feel like a second class citizen… I don’t have to let that defeat me. I don’t have to let that disappointment be my life. I don’t have to hide who and what I am, just to appease others. And I don’t have to be ashamed or afraid.

It’s those people, the minority groups, that really amaze me. I love watching those people at Sundance. I love seeing the elderly man dance with the person in the hajib, and they laugh and enjoy each other and have fun, and then move on to the next dance with someone else. I like knowing that even though they’ve maybe lived a hard life, they haven’t let it beat them down.

It reminds me that, whatever happens, I can still make the choice to stand up, be proud, enjoy my life and the people in it, and that I don’t have to live in fear and hiding.

Something really cool has happened over the last few weeks, maybe even months. It happened really slowly, so I didn’t notice it at first. And initially, it only happened in safe spaces. Then toward stereotypes. But the other day it happened while I was walking a Great Dane (is there anything more femme than a blue Dane with a bright pink

This is not Bentley, but it sure looks like her!

collar complete with fancy ribbon and crystal-studded ID? I THINK NOT. She’s owned by a very straight woman, but damn I feel femme when I take her out.)

Anyway, the very awesome thing is this: I’m flirting! Like I did to boys before I came out (to myself), which is to say that it comes as naturally as breathing.

At first, it was to women I knew were lesbian, at gay bars and gay two-stepping and so on. Then it was to the people in my (very gay) town, the ones I could identify as masculine-ID’d. Then to the stereotypical dykes. But the other day I was walking down the street with Bentley and her bling collar, when I saw a cute woman sitting on a bench, reading. Before I knew quite what I was about, I’d pulled myself up and given her that knee-jerk saucy grin I use whenever I’m flirting without necessarily meaning to.

She didn’t look up. But that’s not the point! The point is that a few months ago I would have been worried about flirting with strange women, because god forbid I offend or give the wrong signals, even if that’s just another sign of cultural homophobia. But now, I’m flirting without thinking twice about it, grinning at women just to see if they’ll grin back! I’m totally interested in Q, and the flirting wouldn’t go anywhere, but… well, it really is as natural as breathing, and it makes everyone feel good.

I can’t help it. I’m a flirt. *laughs* It’s coded right into my DNA, I tell you! And now I’m no longer worried or anxious or anything about flirting with random women, which makes me feel fabulous! Plus, how could I not flirt when I have Bentley? She’s like, femme personified. 😉

I’m in the middle of moving. After going to South Dakota, going home to SoCal, and attempting to write 10,000 words a week. I’m going to stay radio silent for a bit. 😦

BUT FIRST, I had someone recognize me today! Q stayed over last night, and bribed me out of bed this morning by promising me a latte. So we headed down, placed our orders, and then proceeded to snuggle and be generally disgustingly cute while our coffees were made. When the girl came back to the register, she said, “Two dollars. It’s the family discount.” And then she grinned.

OMG! She knew I was gay! And I didn’t have to say anything! It was totally awesome. Happened because I was with a butch, yes, but still! I got recognized!

I was as happy as this dog.

(Why yes, I totally did use this as an excuse to post that video. Hee hee.)

I have a lot of Serious Things to talk about. So instead I’m going to give you a mini-conversation had at the Fourth of July.

I found a new place to live! It’s a house behind a house, and my new landlord is gay so I don’t have to worry about him hitting on me and I can rest assured he won’t care Q is a woman. 😀 When I told my friend DoctorLady this, she laughed and said, “No, but he might hit on her!” (It’s true. Lots of gay men hit on Q. She’s just so damn masculine and freakin’ hot. They can’t help it. I can’t blame them. :D) I laughed like crazy, then of course told Q the next time I saw her (she laughed, too).

Then we were at the Fourth, and I told the group what Doc had said. Someone — maybe Doc’s friend? — said something like, “Aww, he’ll be so sad. You’ll have to explain Q doesn’t have cock!” To which Q looked entirely too smug and said, “Oh, I don’t know about that. It’s just not attached.”

We all howled. So Q, of course, continued.

“Heck, I have several of them.”

Me: “In various colors!” (The funniest thing was, Q said something very similar as I said it. Scary! *grins*)

I laughed so, so, so hard. (The only guy there looked very confused for a while, which made me laugh even harder.)

Anyway, among the busy things I’ve been doing lately is going two-stepping with Q. Gay two-stepping, to be precise. (Q is very butch, and one of the things that cracks me up to no end is when the gay boys hit on her. I can’t help it. It slays me. Besides, I agree with them, sort of: she makes an awfully cute boi, as well as an incredibly handsome butch, and a really hot Q. Heh.)

Gay two-stepping occurs at several bars in the San Fran/East Bay area, most of which I haven’t gone to. Now, I have something to confess, here: I’d never been to a gay bar before we went two-stepping. I know! I’m sorry. Don’t take away my gay card! I’m making up for it now! 😉

A few weeks back, Q joined me and my friends for K’s birthday. We went wine tasting and then pub hopping, but there aren’t really any pubs in my area, so really it was bar hopping. And we got tuckered out, so it wasn’t hopping so much as just bar. 😉 Anyway, while we were in this (straight) bar, or as we came out of it, or maybe just various times, Q mentioned that it felt very predatory.

It felt normal, to me.

Then I went with her to the gay bar, and it was strange. I didn’t feel like I had to watch my drink against all comers (though I still kept a close eye on it), or like I needed to go to the bathroom with a small, private army of fellow females, or keep an eye on what was going on around me at all times.

YOU GUYS, I’VE NEVER FELT THAT WAY BEFORE.

It was more like being at a backyard BBQ than a bar. It was awesome! I could relax! People were friendly without me feeling like they had an agenda (which was doubtless to get in my pants)! It was craaaazy.

Something else happened, too, that was also crazy! I totally had my legs cut out from under me. “That sounds painful,” I hear you cry. It was certainly disconcerting! More than a few times I glanced around and thought, “No one is looking at me. How the heck am I supposed to act when I’m not acting for the people who are watching?!”

Tell you what, there’s a lesson in the male gaze and how women are trained to respond to it, right there. WOW. It left me a bit adrift at times, but luckily I’m never one to stay adrift for long, and whenever I had that uncertain feeling it was a reminder to just check in with myself, and do whatever I wanted to do for me rather than to engage the people who (weren’t) watching. More crazy!

Also, a lot of fun. I might have to get some people together and go check out the gay bar near me. Maybe it has pool tables! It’s a lot less threatening to go with just one other person when the atmosphere isn’t, well, threatening. Which is funny to say, because while I was always on guard at a bar, I didn’t feel threatened. (Oh, Neeezzzuuuu… You mentioned wanting to go to a bar… :D) So, the difference between gay bars and straight bars? I’m not so worried about lesbians following me out the door and attacking me on the street.

…That’s an overstatement. Sort of.

(I wonder if men still feel like it’s a meat market for other gay men? Hmmm.)

Oh yeah, and Q went bull riding again! I have to brag about her. She stayed on much longer this time! Check it out! 😀 That would be my extremely awesome narration, btw. But if you just want to see the ride, skip to the minute-twenty mark. 😉

The good news is, she was MUCH less sore this time so we were still able to have sex. (Okay, to be fair, we had sex last time, too. There were fewer ‘ouch!’ moments this time, though. *grins*).

Back to the subject at hand, though, I do find it interesting that the atmosphere is so different at a straight bar than a gay bar. Tell me, ye who have more experience with this, is that true of all gay bars? Do they just tend to be more relaxed, less predatory areas? Or did I just find the awesome cowboy gay two stepping bar?

It also makes me wonder what it is I’m sensing at the straight bar, if it has to do with sexism and a male gaze, or if it’s just that society has deemed bars dangerous/sexual/pick-up places. But then, wouldn’t that hold true for gay bars, too?

I guess I have more questions than answers after this, and therefore it’s more of an observation of what I’m feeling than any true analysis. Sometimes, writing things down gives me a clearer idea, but right this moment I still don’t know why I react that way. I hesitate to say, “It’s straight men,” because while that might be true, that gets blamed for a lot of things, so I would prefer to be sure before I think that. Maybe it’s a combination of factors: sex appeal, alcohol, the male gaze, packs of predators, knowing there’s danger… Most of these factors happen at a gay bar, too, though.

I think I need to run an experiment. I think I need to go to more gay bars, and see if more club-like ones have the same danger vibe! That will give me more information. Yes. I like this. I’ll visit bars in the name of science.

So, I had an interesting occurrence the other night that I feel I MUST SHARE WITH YOU ALL, because you care about my every interesting occurrence, right?

Right?

Guys?

(I’m in a mood. RUN NOW, EVERYONE, RUN AWAY!)

I was contacted by another hot butch on one of the dating sites I’m on (seriously, I love hot butches, I really really do). So I went to check out this butch’s profile, and right there it says, “If you must use pronouns, please use male ones.”

“Okay!” I think to myself. “No problem! I’ve been reading butch blogs, I’ve been dealing with Q, I am totally ready for using male pronouns. This is so not a big deal. Kinda neat that he just states it and I don’t have to guess or ask, really. :D” (Yes, I did think that smiley face BECAUSE I’M JUST THAT AWESOME.)

So then later I’m posting in my personal blog (I’d link it, but the post is protected anyway) about this butch, and I talked about how I emailed him back and had had an unrelated quirkiness issue. But next to the word ‘he’ I put an asterisks, because it occurred to me that people reading my blog might very well go, “Wait, what? He? I thought JB was dating shes these days!” So I added the asterisks and said this:

*Yes, I am still dating estrogen-based organisms. But this estrogen-based organism says right in his profile he prefers male pronouns. This being my first encounter with this, I’m finding it interesting in a confusion aspect — for instance, I feel the need to clarify he’s still an estrogen based organism, and I’m not sure how that works on a “what is the right thing to do” scale. Hmmm. Interesting. Something for the femme blog!

And now here I am on the femme blog, talking about it. See how that works?

So here’s my tangle of thoughts: first off, if someone’s using male pronouns, do I still say, “I’m dating this woman,” or do I say, “I’m dating this man…”? Really, I think I should just say, “I’m dating this butch,” but I don’t because I get flak for that. (That is a whole other post. A ranty one. A pissed off, ‘why do you think I shouldn’t date butches you fucking fucker, you’re just jealous and they’re hotter than you and they totally get hot-me and get me hot, don’t fuck with my peeps and hurt their feelings because I will rip your face off’‘ kind of rant.) BUT — well, when I put it that way, I think I should definitely use ‘butch’ just for the visibility and making-people-aware of it. Okay! One question answered! (The other answer is, of course, to ask the butch in question and find out if I should use ‘man’ or ‘woman’ when saying I’m dating them. BUT LET’S NOT BE SENSIBLE. *grins*)

Second tangled up thought! It seems to me that the ethical thing to do is not put the asterisks there, because it sort of undermines what the person asked for. I mean, if they asked to be referred to with masculine pronouns, and then there’s me going, “But don’t worry, he’s still female!” it seems kind of… like I’m making other people comfortable by giving them privileged information. It feels slimy, the same way it would feel if someone said, “JB is an author! But really, she pays her bills by training dogs.” I’d want to slap that person — that second bit was not their business to add, and it belittles my authordom. (I’m totally an author. I make up words. :D)

But on the other hand, not putting the asterisks there will have a whole slew of side effects, ranging from vague pain-in-the-assiness, like having to answer twelve hundred confused questions from friends, to ethically uncomfortable, like having people assume I’ve gone back to dating men (returned to the light side, so to speak, and I am totally aware that the connotations for that are gay = bad), and/or not becoming aware that sometimes you can refer to estrogen based organisms with male pronouns, because gender and sex aren’t the same thing.

Looking at THAT tangled thought, I think the answer is to explain about gender and sex and pronouns to promote knowledge among everyone… but man, that gets exhausting. So where, exactly, do I draw the line between “the right thing to do to promote tolerance and understanding is to explain” and “oh my god, I need to have a life other than explaining for everyone else all the time and the easy thing to do is put in the dang asterisks so I don’t have to answer twelve hundred emails”? Hmmm.

AND THEN, my friend Andy pointed out something else. Andy has two transman roommates who are dating lesbians. These lesbians are struggling because by introducing their partners as he, which is very definitely correct, they’re erasing their own lesbian identity AND appearing to have gone back to the light side.

That’s something I hadn’t thought of, but as soon as Andy mentioned it I realized that was part of my asterisks-needing above. I was making sure people realized that I was still identifying as mostly lesbian, even though I’m actually bi. As soon as I realized that’s what was going on I was able to shake it off, in large part because I am bi, and so I’m not really challenging my own identity no matter which pronouns I use.

It’s an interesting conundrum, and in a lot of ways I think it’s something everyone has to solve for themselves (that last identity part, at least). Do you change your identity as others perceive it to honor the person you’re dating? Do you walk around constantly explaining, assuming the person you’re dating is all right with that? Do you honor your own identity and clarify for people? Do you just make sure you’re so unshakable in your identity that it doesn’t matter?

It makes me think of the nitty gritty details in dating someone who uses male pronouns. So if I don’t add the estrogen-based-organism disclaimer, for the most part it isn’t going to affect my life. People can think what they want or ask me. But what if I talked to my folks about it?

Me: Hi, Mom! I’m dating this really hot guy, blah blah blah, etc etc.

Two months later I bring said guy home to meet the folks. The polite thing to do for my parents is to tell them first, “I’m still dating a woman, he just prefers male pronouns,” because if I didn’t my parents would meet him and be surprised, off-kilter, and feel rude and upset. But if I did, my parents would know what to expect and take it in stride. (They’re cool like that. My mom bought DK all butch gear for Christmas, and thought it was a blast.) That’s the polite thing for my parents — but what’s the polite thing for the butch in question? To just use male pronouns with my parents, not tell them I’m dating a woman because of the aforementioned undermining, and let them deal? (Just for the record: parents would totally trump.) I think this is another talk-to-the-butch scenario, but it’s still made me sort of wake up and realize there’s a whole other side to this masculine pronoun thing.

…It’s kinda cool. 😀 I’ve heard the butch side of things before, but until now it never occurred to me that this would impact my life, too, and that I’d need to sort out what to expect and some coping mechanisms for stupidity.

Dear butches: I know you can’t comment on all butches, but where do you fall on this line? Would you want your partner to say, “I’m dating an estrogen based organism who uses male pronouns” because it increases visibility and understanding (or for some other reason), or would you rather they just stick with all-male language and let other people wonder and/or ask? Is this flexible — what if your partner is upset because it challenges their own identity, does that factor into what to do next? Is this something you would compromise on, or is it such a major identity thing that it would be like asking someone to compromise on race?

You know what really annoys me? I mean REALLY? More than femme invisibility? More than being asked why don’t I just date a man? …actually, it might be on par with that.

I’m on dating sites. Four of them, if I recall correctly. There are plenty of lesbians on these dating sites, and I’m sure they’re just lovely people. However, I’m only attracted to butch women. If Angelina Jolie, the sex goddess herself, walked up to me tomorrow in her best Lara Croft outfit and asked me to go to bed with her, in all honesty… I’d have to say no. She just doesn’t do it for me. She’s all soft and squishy, even when she’s ripped with muscle and wearing non-feminine clothes. Something about her just screams “Feminine!”

Now, if she-sex incarnate doesn’t turn me on, there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that the average woman is going to do it. Because I respect that people put time and energy into contacting someone and opening themselves to rejection, I say on my profile (this line is pulled right from one of those sites):

And then, in case they don’t get it, I elaborate. I mean, by the time it’s done, it’s pretty clear that I’m looking for a butch lesbian. In fact, I say it outright. And yet, you know what email I get more often than any other? (Made up for your convenience, and yet practically verbatim):

Hi! Well, I’m not butch, but I think you’re pretty cute and your profile made me laugh. You should give us other girls a try — I think you’ll find that we’re pretty cute, too! I may have long hair, but I like chivalry, and we have a lot in common! 😀

Sweetheart, you’re probably a doll. You’re probably a lovely person. You probably don’t have a clue that what you just said is about as offensive as me saying, “Hey, I know you think you like women, but I bet you just haven’t tried men! Go get yourself some cock, and then decide!”

I mean, really? Would you walk up to someone and tell them that they were probably just closed minded in who they were dating? That if they just tried some other people, they’d find they were all wrong about themselves, their tastes, and what they find attractive and they liked not x type, but y type? (If your answer is yes, slap yourself now. Re-read above re: cock. YES IT IS THE SAME, unless you have some serious extenuating circumstances.)

Plus, if I just finished saying I’m only interested in butch women, why in heaven’s name would you want to date me if you aren’t one?! It’s like setting yourself up for pain! “Well, I’m dating this girl who isn’t attracted to me, but she has a great sense of humor!” WHY?!

“I only like black men.”

“Hi! I’m a blond Norwiegian! Surely you’ll make an exception for me! You just haven’t tried, right?”

NO! PEOPLE! Let’s think about this for a moment! Really. I promise. I’m a big girl. I know what I’m attracted to. You are probably lovely, and I hope you find someone who thinks you’re incredible, but it’s not me. Stop trying to change my mind, okay? Okay.

Also, people are aware (okay, some people are aware) that telling, say, a lesbian she likes women because she just hasn’t met the right man is A Bad Thing To Say. So why is it okay to tell a lesbian she likes butch women because she just hasn’t met the right androgynous woman? WTF? Do butch women get this too? Is this just that any time you pick a category, other people will object, or is this a femme thing? I mean, seriously, I get this email a couple of times a week. I can’t imagine a butch who says “I like femme women” getting a similiar email, mostly because so many women — even lesbians — these days are feminine, so I’d guess it gets overlooked. But maybe I’m wrong! Or maybe butch women get a lot of emails from feminine women who aren’t femme and get annoyed because they can tell a difference. I dunno. Please, enlighten me.

In the meantime, I can blow off steam here so I don’t snap someone’s head off. 😉